


the strongest among you may not wear a crown.

by berryfuls



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, GTA Universe, Minor Violence, Psychological Warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berryfuls/pseuds/berryfuls
Summary: The infamous Vagabond has been captured by a rival crew. Ryan must fight to maintain faith in the Fake AH as his captors work to convince him of his friends' apathy and how easily he can be replaced on a team he thought of as a family.





	the strongest among you may not wear a crown.

The first thing Ryan hears is the dull buzzing of the light-bulb hung bare above his head.

He opens his eyes, blinking with sensitivity to the light. The damp concrete beneath his legs has left his jeans uncomfortably stiff and clinging to his calves. The room smells of mold and mildew, with the faint hint of death and decay underneath. He is encased in gray walls and the knowledge of his failure.

The great Vagabond has been _captured_.

He tests his range of motion, but his wrists are bound with a zip-tie and his leg is chained to a post nearby. His body is trapped within a 5 foot radius, and escape seems beyond impossible.

He remembers the assault on the enemy crew’s headquarters, remembers the adrenaline and the whirs of bullets and the curses falling from his friends’ mouths. He remembers separating to clear a room off the main hallway. He remembers taking one-two-three steps into the room, a rifle’s sight directing his eye along the walls, then muttering “Clear,” into his headset. He remembers the sharp blow to the back of his neck, the harsh sound of his gun clattering to the floor, the way the concrete below him eagerly rushed towards his face.

And then no more.

He gingerly tries stretching his face muscles, to test the extent of his injury. His muscles pull across his skull without resistance or pain. He hopes his attacker simply knocked him unconscious, because he doubted his captors would be gracious enough to give him any sort of medical care.

He can clearly feel the absence of his mask, but he wipes his cheek against the shoulder of his shirt and inspects what’s left behind. Nothing. No face paint. He’s bare-faced up against faceless foes who would take the time to hunt down Clark Kent’s friends and family just to hurt Superman.

Still, he feels no fear. He’s the _Vagabond_. Los Santos has thousands of stories of him committing truly heinous crimes and the majority of them are true. He is going to make it out alive and make this just another tale of the Vagabond’s might.

He hears the click of a key in the door across from him and as it swings open, he turns calmly towards the approaching man. He can’t be older than Gavin, about the same height as Ryan, with more muscle, with dirty blonde hair neatly styled. He doesn’t have the appearance of being a threat, but then neither does Ryan, with his long ponytail and handsome face.

“Hello,” the man greets casually, shutting the door behind him. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Vagabond.”

Ryan nods curtly. “I wish I could say the same.”

The man smiles a half-smile. “My name is Andrew. I was contracted by the crew to ensure that you stay in this room and don’t cause trouble. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Your crew can kiss my ass,” Ryan replies, his statement lacking the malice expected of it. He isn’t looking to fight Andrew, not with three of his four limbs bound and his head still swimming from unconsciousness. That said, he isn’t about to lay down and just take whatever plans they have for him.

Andrew frowns. “That’s a little rude, don’t you think? I have been a gracious host. I got your head to stop bleeding after you were taken. I’d say you owe me some politeness.” Ryan remains silent, opting to stare down this man. After a few moments of stillness and silence, Andrew speaks one word: “Apologize.”

Ryan snorts. “I’m not going to apologize to you. You don’t even work for this crew, why do you care what I have to say about them?”

Andrew’s stare hardens. “Apologize,” he repeats, all previous formality and relaxed state gone. His voice is as hard and cold as steel and Ryan is surprised to feel gooseflesh prickle over his arms. _What the hell?_ When Ryan still doesn’t say anything, Andrew crosses the room to stand above Ryan, towering above the man sat propped against the wall. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

Ryan, again, does not respond.

His movements are quick and efficient. Ryan never expects the way Andrew’s fist retracts and then launches towards his face, making contact with his jaw with the power and intensity of a truck. He sees stars as he recoils from the blow, and he has to shake his head to recover.

His mouth tastes like copper and his jaw is already sore with the residual pain, but he still makes eye contact with Andrew and pointedly spits out the blood on his tongue onto the ground. The droplets land between Andrew’s boots, starkly red and dark against the dull gray concrete.

But Andrew is satisfied despite Ryan’s retaliation, and he turns back towards the door. “Think about why the crew hired me to watch you instead of having one of their own take care of it. I’m not an enemy you would like to make. Have a good night, Mr. Haywood,” he says, his back still towards Ryan. He opens the door and exits, and Ryan immediately hears the click of the door being locked once again.

Ryan lets out a breath and prays to a deity he doesn’t believe in that his jaw isn’t broken.

It’s a few hours before Andrew returns, hours in which Ryan drifts from being half-asleep, lulled by the dull ache in his jaw, to wide-awake and thinking about getting out of this cell. Andrew comes sweeping in, holding a school cafeteria lunch tray. All signs of his earlier outburst seem to have vanished, and he’s all smiles and friendly demeanor once more.

“Dinner time!” he calls out, setting the tray a few feet away from Ryan. He stops, as if hesitating, before pulling a pair of scissors from his pocket. “I have permission to cut your hands free. However, I will only do so if you promise not attack me, hurt me, steal my scissors, or do anything else rude. Is that a deal?” Ryan nods, wary but willing to pick his battles here. “Good. Turn around so I can get the zip-tie.”

Ryan does as he’s told, shifting to reveal his hands to the man. Andrew works swiftly, snipping the zip-tie to free Ryan and even taking the time to grab the discarded plastic before backing away. It’s a test, Ryan senses. Andrew is acting as if he trusts Ryan not to attack him, as if the two of them have a mutual agreement not to hurt the other. Judging by the wide smile on Andrew’s face, Ryan can only assume he passed with flying colors.

“I’m glad to see you and I can trust each other. I like a mutual respect and understanding. Enjoy your dinner,” Andrew says, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he exits the room.

Ryan inspects the tray before him as the lock clicks back. He’s surprised to find a generous portion of chicken and rice, along with a can of Diet Coke – his one and only vice. He blinks, considering the implications of the soda. If they are sending him the message he’s receiving, then they know a lot more about the Vagabond and Ryan Haywood himself than previously thought. If they know all this about him, then they could know a lot more about the Fake AH Crew and the other members. The others could be in great danger.

He swallows the pang of dread he feels at that thought. The crew is smart, adaptable, and clever. They pride themselves on being the best of the best at what they do, and it was dumb luck they managed to capture Ryan in the first place.

He shovels some of the rice into his mouth. It’s nothing special, a boxed mix and reheated leftover chicken, but considering Ryan hasn’t eaten since before the heist (which was who knows how long ago) it tastes like heaven. He forces himself to eat slowly and savor each bite, because next time, his captors may not be so kind. He eats the rest of his dinner and stretches back, ready to start considering what it will take to be free once more.

The following days have much the same pattern: Andrew brings Ryan his breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Ryan is coldly polite in return to avoid provoking him. It’s a strange relationship, the way the two sometimes engage in small talk, like the weather outside (on one particularly windy day that left Andrew’s normally immaculate hair windblown and wild) or the news (but never anything on gang activity, only safe topics like a local soap box derby or a law being debated in Congress).

Ryan loses count of the days. It could have been a week, it could have been a year, but nonetheless, time passes.

Every night, after dinner, he wonders what his friends are up to right now, and it makes him homesick. He pictures Michael and Gavin rough housing until they’re breathless and giggling. He pictures Jack lounging across the loveseat, idly channel surfing until she finds a rerun of some old TV show. He pictures Jeremy sitting on the floor and planning his next car mods (“Rim Jobs,” he imagines Jeremy correcting), every now and then glancing up at the TV to gather a few seconds worth of plot. He pictures Geoff, sitting in the penthouse dining room, as he pours over details of their next big heist. He always lingers on that image the longest, wondering if that next heist was to collect Ryan himself as the bounty.

It’s a good thought, and it gives him hope. At first. Soon, it starts to fill him with anger and loneliness. It doesn’t take long for him to have to abandon these images and reconstruct new, better ones that inevitably betray him in much the same fashion. And so the cycle continues.

That’s why, when Andrew says to him, with what sounds like empathy on the surface, “I’m sorry your friends haven’t come for you yet,” it cuts deeper than Ryan had anticipated. Andrew is baiting him, looking for an explosion to use as fuel, and Ryan is well-aware, but he doesn’t defend them. He doesn’t say anything. He lowers his eyes to the slightly-stale cereal, nods once, and continues eating.

But it’s still everything Andrew ever wanted out of Ryan.

...

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Ryan looks up to see Andrew in the doorway. He steps aside to allow another person to enter. This person is a woman, small but curvy, and she has dazzlingly purple hair. Ryan recognizes her instantly. “Meg?”

A smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. She turns to Andrew and nods once, and he leaves the room immediately. “Hello, Ryan,” she says as the door clicks shut behind her. “Or the Vagabond. Which are you going by these days?”

Ryan is still reeling from the sight of Meg. “Since when do you have anything to do with this crew?”

She tilts her head and studies Ryan. “You still think this has to do with the Fake AH taking on the warehouse?” He nods. “Ryan, please,” she says with an easy laugh. “The man who attacked you in the warehouse was a merc for that crew. No loyalty or real connection. He recognized you as the great Vagabond and knew he could make a quick buck selling you to the highest bidder.”

“You… bought me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

She shakes her head once, throws her vibrant violet hair over one shoulder. "No, I paid for the Vagabond."

"I am the Vagabond."

"No, you're not." The words ring clear and hang in the air for a few moments. "If you were the Vagabond, you would have taken the dozens of chances to escape that Andrew gave you. You're here because you want to be, and that's remarkably unlike the Vagabond I know."

Ryan shakes his head. "No, I just figured that being cooperative meant I would stay alive long enough for you to release me or for my crew to find me. I knew the second I bust out this cell, there would be dozens of other mercs with guns and cover. It would be suicide to try and escape under present circumstances."

Meg watches him thoughtfully, as if considering this. "So you're saying you are still the same Vagabond?" Ryan nods in response. "Then perhaps we can make a deal." She turns on her heel and knocks twice on the door. It opens and Andrew reenters, this time holding handcuffs.

"What kind of deal?" Ryan asks, but Meg says nothing. She simply watches as Andrew clicks the cuffs onto Ryan's wrists, with the Vagabond showing no visible sign of agitation or annoyance. He imagines her wishing for something to stir the pot of his temper, anything to show that her investment was worthwhile. But he remains calm and collected. She was going to regret this decision before the day was over.

Andrew unlocks the padlock on Ryan's ankle chain before moving to behind Ryan, placing one hand on the handcuff chain and the other on Ryan's shoulder to help him stand up. Ryan is unsteady on his feet and he can’t remember the last time he stood. "We're ready when you are, ma'am," he says to Meg, as formal and polite as ever.

Meg leads the way out the room and Ryan finally sees what the other side of the cell wall looks like. It's a long, cold hallway of doors, probably to other cells like Ryan’s, and at the end, a flight of wooden stairs. The group heads towards and up them, and the door at the top opens to reveal a surprisingly nice warehouse. The air smells of fresh paint and sawdust, and he can hear someone hammering in a far-off room. Clearly, this operation hadn't been in place for long. The daylight streaming in through the windows’ blinds his eyes. He had grown accustomed to the dark, artificial light of the cell, and the warm, inviting light of the outside world feels strange to witness.

Meg leads him to a makeshift conference room, of all places, where Andrew uncuffs him so he can sit in one of the plush office chairs. Andrew sits beside him, staying close enough to maintain his threat level. Meg takes a moment to gather a stack of files before sinking into the seat across from Ryan.

Ryan repeats his previous question. "What kind of deal?"

Meg flicks her eyes up from the files to him and smiles before reaching for the top file and pulling a page from it. She slides it across to him, but he ignores it to watch her instead. "March 9th, 2007. That was the day Geoff Ramsey's Craigslist ad went up, looking for a new crew member. You responded to that ad."

Ryan nods slowly. "We met up at a bar and we talked about what exactly this job was going to be. I don't think I understood at the time, but I don't regret it."

"What if I told you that what Geoff told you that night was a lie?"

"What?" Ryan sits up straighter, finally turning his eyes to the paper. On it was a photograph of Geoff and Ryan, seated in a back booth and munching on nachos. "How did you ge-"

"We've been following Geoff for years now. Ever since we started to hear rumors about a new crew in town. We received intelligence that the ad was a front to call in a new guy they had been working with on and off." She pauses before pulling another paper from the file. "This is man Geoff intended to meet with that night." Ryan glances down at the paper and sees a man, as young as the Lads, with short, dark hair and a goofy smile.

"Caleb?" he asks, blinking up at Meg in confusion.

"Yes, Caleb Denecour. You know him?"

He nods. "He's done a couple heists with us. He isn't around much but he's a good guy."

"You replaced him on the team," she states, factual and collected as ever. There is a slight edge of accusation, but Ryan largely ignores it. "Geoff was working to get Caleb to work full-time for the crew, but then you 'applied,' impressed him, and made Caleb get pushed out of the picture."

"Why do you care about Caleb?"

She shrugs. "Personally, I don't. What I'm saying is that people on your crew can be replaced with better members, just like Caleb was replaced with you. Soon, Geoff will find a new masked murderer, and you'll be on your own."

Ryan shakes his head. "You have way underestimated the crew, Meg. They're not just my teammates, they're my friends."

Meg tilts her head and studies Ryan. "Do you know how long you've been here?" He shakes his head, wary. "Two months, four days. Two months and four days you've been here and not once has your crew showed up, looking for you. Two months and four days of them giving up on you. It takes two weeks to move on from you, and a month and a half to replace you."

Ryan sets his jaw, determined not to lose faith in his friends. "You're lying."

Meg looks at him, almost pityingly. "I wish I was, Ryan." She stands and turns on the television hung on the wall. The local news anchor appears grave as she delivers the evening's reports.

"Los Santos crime gang, the Fake AH Crew, seems to have a new member in their ranks. Police say the mystery member has been the sixth man on several of the crew’s jobs in the past month. It is still currently unknown what happened to the infamous Vagabond, but sources say-” The DVR recording stops there, and Meg turns the television off.

“Do you see? This new member, real name Trevor Collins, has replaced you. If your crew actually cared about finding you, do you think they would have put their efforts into hiring a new man and completing several jobs with him?” she asks, and for a second, Ryan thinks he sees genuine empathy in her eyes.

He isn’t convinced, though. “How do I know you didn’t hire that woman to have her read the news you scripted?”

Meg shrugs. “I guess there’s no way for me to prove that. But I didn’t hire her. That was a legitimate news report.”

Ryan doesn’t want to believe her, but the tiny seedling of doubt in his friends is already planted. It has been for days. He desperately wants to believe in the crew, but things aren’t adding up and it scares him. Truth be told, Meg could have told him any of a long list of lies, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. Ryan’s change of heart occurs because he can’t keep putting faith in the people who were supposed to have his back no matter what.

So when Andrew takes Ryan back to his cell, the Vagabond is silent and emotionless. Andrew doesn’t bother him with his usual small talk, and he allows Ryan to remain unchained in the cell. It’s another test, Ryan knows.

Maybe this time he will fail the test and save himself.

…

“Are you sure this is it?” Michael asks, pulling away from the scope on his sniper rifle.

Trevor nods, lowering his binoculars. “That’s the warehouse.”

Michael takes a second to survey the surroundings from where they lay at the edge of the woods. They were still a good hundred yards from being anywhere near the warehouse. “Not much cover around here. They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

“Probably,” Trevor agrees, looking back at the warehouse. Through his binoculars, he sees a flash of purple through a window. “Look, first floor window on the right. That’s Meg.”

Michael, peering down his scope again, freezes. “And that’s Ryan, in the room with her.” He takes in Ryan, sitting calmly at the conference table, and feels a twinge of guilt. That man has likely gone through hell and back again, and Michael has been out here, searching through dead end after dead end. They all have. The whole crew has been working on little to no sleep, trying to find Ryan, but Meg is good. She has avoided their detection for this long, but with Trevor’s help, they finally tracked her down and found him.

Trevor sighs and turns toward Michael. “Then she’s doing what I was afraid she would do,” he says. Michael furrows his brow. “Look, I worked for her for five years, right, this is not a new trick. It’s the psychological game. Once the captives already have a doubt of ever being free again, she just adds fuel to the fire. Eventually, their alliance changes.” He looked through his binoculars into the warehouse again. “We need to get him out ASAP.”

Michael pauses for a second before tapping his earpiece on. “Geoff, we have news.”

…

Andrew arrives later that night with Ryan’s dinner. It’s a plate of spaghetti and a glass of water, nothing fancy. He places it neatly on the ground in front of Ryan.

“You know, Meg has given me permission to move you to another cell tomorrow. Down the hall. It has a cot to sleep on, a table and a chair, even a little bathroom,” he says, eying the trash can in the corner of the cell that Ryan has designated for that purpose. Andrew has had it cleaned a few times, always on nights he slips a sleeping pill into Ryan’s dinner. It’s an extension of Meg’s orders to keep the man alive and well.

Ryan glances up at him. “That sounds nice. Thank you,” he says, his voice lacking any sense of sarcasm or emotion. He picks up the spaghetti and begins eating, and Andrew slips out to give him some peace.

Ryan readies another forkful of noodles before placing it back down. Truthfully, he isn’t hungry. He’s still thinking about Fake AH and their replacing him.

Now, Ryan isn’t egotistical or narcissistic enough to believe that Fake AH would never hire another member. The crew has had several hires help them out on various jobs, even with all six main members present. Kerry, Lindsay, Matt, they had all worked for the crew, but they were never truly in the middle of the action. If Meg was to be believed, and Ryan was skeptical to, then this Trevor is a bigger deal in the crew than just additional assistance.

The still-rational part of his brain reasoned that maybe Trevor was hired to help find Ryan. Which would make sense, except why would the crew be doing other jobs with him? Isn’t saving Ryan more important than any of those odd jobs? They didn’t have any plans after the warehouse job where Ryan was attacked. Would Geoff really keep planning like that? Just accept Ryan as a lost cause, shrug and move on?

In his head, it all comes down to one thing: does he trust Meg?

And truthfully, he wants to. She hasn’t killed him, her mercenary treats him like an actual human being, and she hasn’t told him anything he knows to be false. She seems to pity him, as if she expected the Fake AH to show up long ago and they just haven’t. And maybe he was beginning to sympathize with her, but he’s struggling to hold on to the reality of the life he once knew. It’s only been two months, but all he can vividly remember is this cell, this warehouse, these people. The Fake AH Crew feels like a distant memory, a life he constructed in a dream.

Ryan sighs, picks up the spaghetti and water, and empties them into the trash. He knows he shouldn’t let the food go to waste, but the idea of a heavy meal sitting in his stomach makes him feel sick. He lays down on the concrete and, despite the whirlwind of thoughts in his head, he falls asleep within minutes.

…

“Are you sure about this?”

Andrew’s soft whisper wakes Ryan, who has the sense to keep his eyes closed and remain still. He is hanging, slung over Andrew’s shoulder, and he’s walking them down the hall. The click of heels on concrete alerts Ryan that they aren’t alone.

“Of course,” comes the reply and it’s Meg’s voice. “You put enough sleeping pills in his dinner to keep him knocked out for a week. We’re only moving an hour south. There will be plenty of time.”

Ryan feels the brush of Andrew’s face as he shakes his head. “Not that. The other warehouse isn’t as defendable as this one. Shouldn’t we stay here and wait them out?”

“I think you’re missing the point, Andrew,” she replies, and Ryan can hear a smirk in her voice. “His crew knows that the other warehouse is easier to attack. Which means that they will. They want Haywood back, no matter the cost.”

“I’m not so sure the plan will work. He’s only been detached from them for two months.”

Meg hums, thoughtful. “I’ve thought about that. But if we keep him much longer, he’s going to figure it out. The point is that he no longer trust them. The Fake AH Crew cannot survive without the Vagabond.”

The words ring in Ryan’s ears, repeating themselves over and over. _The Fake AH Crew cannot survive without the Vagabond. The Fake AH Crew cannot survive without the Vagabond._

And finally, he gets it. The whole thing. Why Meg bought him from the mercenary, why she’s kept him alive all this time, why the crew hasn’t come to save him yet.

She’s been plotting this whole thing so he turn on his crew and join hers. She’s been biding her time, making him doubt the crew and trust her, before she throws him back to them and have him leave them on his own accord.

But she made a mistake. She and Andrew assumed he had taken all of the sleeping pills and she revealed to him her cards. Cards that may have just worked if he hadn’t overheard this conversation.

So Ryan plays his part. Pretends to be asleep the entire hour long drive to the new warehouse and the ride on Andrew’s shoulders to his new cell. When the lock finally clicks and the world falls into silence, Ryan dares to opens his eyes. The new cell is exactly as Andrew had described it. He was laying on a cot against the wall, and he could see a toilet and sink in the corner opposite him.

He smiles despite himself. Meg and Andrew had no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into.

…

The raid starts with a single sniper shot that shatters an upstairs window.

Then it’s chaos. Ryan can hear the clambering of men getting into position, yelling at each other over gunfire. He’s not sure how long he listens to the noise, but it dies down quickly and, soon, he hears a far-off door open and Michael’s voice ring off the concrete walls. “Rye-bread? You down here, buddy?”

“Michael!” he calls back, standing and crossing to the door. The lad swiftly finds him, announces it over his comm unit, and opens the door. “How did you guys storm this place so fast?”

Michael grins, still running on the adrenaline high. “Wasn’t even a fight. Our guy got word they were moving you tonight and we followed you here, so they didn’t even have time to really get set up.” He stands back and looks Ryan over before he laughs. “You look like shit, Ry.”

Ryan finds himself laughing with the lad as the two start making their way back upstairs. The rest of the crew was already gathered on the main floor. All of them joyfully bombard Ryan, touching him and telling him they’re glad he’s okay.

Geoff approaches last, with a smirk on his face. “Next time, check the room before you give the all-clear,” he teases, and Ryan laughs sheepishly.

“We should get going,” Jack announces suddenly. “Trevor says we have an opening to get out before reinforcements come.” Geoff nods to the rest of the crew.

As the others gather around the door, Jeremy holds up a hand to stop Ryan and silently hands him a rifle and a comm unit. “Battle buddies for life, pal,” Jeremy says with a grin. The gun is one of Ryan’s personal favorites, and he adores the familiarity of the barrel and the trigger. It feels like power, like being in control again, and he’s glad the lad made the effort to bring it. He places the unit in his ear in time to hear an unfamiliar voice telling them to hold tight.

“Trevor Collins,” Jeremy explains, his voice low. The name brings an unexpected pang in Ryan’s stomach. He hadn’t thought Meg’s trick would be true. Jeremy seems to pick up on Ryan’s discomfort, because he goes on to say, “A former employee of this crew and an old friend of mine. He left them last year, so Geoff convinced him to help us find you.” Ryan smiles, thankful for the clarification.

“Okay, the road’s clear. Head straight to me and hustle. I’m not sure how long we’ve got,” Trevor instructs. Ryan falls in behind Jack, with Jeremy covering his back, and the crew swiftly crosses the patch of open area to reach the relative safety of the woods.

When the warehouse is out of sight, the group stops. “Coming to join you guys now. Please don’t shoot me, _Gavin_ ,” Trevor says over the radio, and Michael chokes on a laugh. Gavin makes a face, and Ryan can only assume the Brit had some sort of a misfire towards the new guy. A twig cracks behind him, and Ryan turns to see a tall, young guy approaching them. He joins the group and gives everyone a grin before turning to Ryan. “Great to finally meet the legend himself.” He offers a hand, and Ryan takes it in a firm handshake.

“Thanks for the help in my rescue,” he returns. “I can’t imagine how they would have fared on their own.”

Trevor laughs and Ryan can already tell he fits in well with the crew. “We’ve still gotta get through these woods to where we left the vehicles to get you back to the city.”

“Let’s get a move on, you two can get to know each other back at the apartment,” Geoff says, already moving away from the group.

The crew follows him without a word, on alert but knowing much of the danger had passed. They finally reach the backside of a highway-side restaurant. Ryan recognizes the two cars parked away from the others, both of them armored.

Michael notices Ryan observing the cars and laughs. “Turns out stealing you from a warehouse is easier than getting Geoff out of prison.”

“Told ya,” Gavin says, sliding his sunglasses onto his face.

“Ryan, you’re gonna ride with Michael, Trevor, and Jeremy. Gav, you’re with me and Jack,” Geoff directs as they reach the cars. Ryan slides into the backseat, and Jeremy settles in beside him.

Ryan motions to the gun in his lap. “Thanks for this, by the way. I appreciate the thought.”

Jeremy grins in response. “Couldn’t have the great Vagabond without some firepower. What kind of battle buddy would I be?” Ryan laughs as Michael pulls the car onto the freeway.

Trevor turns around in the passenger seat. “So how does it feel to be free again? I know Meg’s crew can be rough,” he says.

“They weren’t too bad, actually,” Ryan replies.  They fed me three meals a day, and her mercenary only punched me once. Other than the attempt on my psychological state, I’m fine.”

Trevor furrows his brow. “That makes no sense.” He shares a look with Michael, who shrugs in response. “I worked for Meg for years, and she never just kept someone prisoner like that. Even the ones getting the mind games usually got some kind of physical torture.”

“Maybe she thought Ryan was hot,” Jeremy says with a smirk on his face.

Michael snorts, but Trevor shakes his head, serious. “We’re gonna have to talk with Geoff about this. Something about this feels off.”

…

So, Ryan finds himself back in Geoff’s apartment, alone in the planning room with Trevor and Geoff. The two men had been having a heated conversation before Ryan had been invited in, and the tension still hung in the air.

Geoff closes the door behind Ryan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Ryan, can you please explain to me exactly how you were treated when you were held hostage?”

Ryan sits down next to Trevor, across the table from Geoff. “It really wasn’t that bad,” he

explains. “They fed me three meals a day, even gave me Diet Coke once in awhile. The merc hired to babysit me, Andrew, only hit me once, the day I woke up there. I slept on a concrete ground and had a trash can for a toilet, but it could have been a million times worse.”

Geoff shares a look with Trevor, who sighs. “I worked for Meg, right,” Trevor says, turning to Ryan. “She liked to pull this form of torture. It’s psychological warfare. She makes you love her, trust her, until you turn on your crew and join hers.”

“That’s what we thought she was doing with you,” Geoff chimes in. “But according to Trevor, they treat even those prisoners like shit. There’s the possibility that they just wanted you to really grow to love them, but with the amount of intel they had on you, they would have know that shit wouldn’t work on you.”

There is a pause before Ryan speaks up. “Last night, when they were transporting me to the new warehouse, I overheard a conversation between Meg and Andrew. Sounded like they treated me like that because they pitied me and my complacency. They mentioned the fact that they wanted me not to trust you anymore, and that the Fake AH can’t survive without me.”

Trevor nods, thoughtful. “That would make sense for her,” he says.

Geoff stares at his fingers tapping on the metal table. “What if we attack them? Take out Meg and not have to worry about losing another crew member?” He says this to no one in particular, voicing his thoughts just to see how they taste on his tongue.

But Trevor takes the idea seriously. “Look, if anyone can take out her crew, it’s you guys-”

“Us,” Geoff interrupts abruptly. “You’re a part of this crew now.”

Trevor nods, casting his eyes downward with a tiny smile. “It’s us. We could do it, but it’ll be tough. If we decide to do it, it should be unanimous.”

“Then let’s get a unanimous decision,” Geoff says, standing. Ryan and Trevor follow him out of the planning room to the living area, where the rest of the crew is lounging around the television. Jack mutes whatever show is playing as Geoff announces, “Attack on Meg and her crew. Who’s in?”

A chorus of loud approvals greets his question, and Ryan smiles. These people _care._ Heart and soul. They may tease each other and joke around, but when it comes down to it, they truly cared about the other members of the crew. They would blindly agree to a difficult mission if it means avenging the months they held Ryan captive.

Maybe Meg was right. While the crew itself may live on, the family that the crew has become can’t survive with a single member missing.

He pushes down the tiny voice in the back of his head that points out that the crew thrived in his absence.

…

“On my mark,” Michael says over the comm. “Three, two, one-”

A loud explosion drowns out anything else, and suddenly everything and everyone is moving. The other crew members are flooding out of the forest toward the warehouse. A couple confused guards are quickly downed by sniper shots, and the crew quickly make their way inside. Immediately inside the warehouse is deserted. Ryan reasons that the guards fell back to more defensive positions, making the offices and side rooms much more dangerous. He remembers a thump to the back of his head and a rush of concrete as the crew begins clearing the rest of the building.

Despite his previous mistake and subsequent kidnapping, Geoff had allowed him to complete this mission without a bodyguard or babysitter, trusting the Vagabond and his abilities. In this moment, Ryan begins to feel an inkling of doubt, that maybe Geoff had made a mistake. 

_Geoff doesn’t make mistakes,_ he reminds himself. And it’s true, for the most part. It calms his nerves enough to focus, searching for more signs of life in the warehouse.

He doesn’t even realize how often he’s having to correct himself or his doubts.

“Ry, watch your six,” he hears over the comm, and he whirls around to be face-to-face with Jeremy. “No wonder that guy was able to sneak up on you before,” Jeremy says with a smirk as he continues past.

Ryan huffs a laugh, grateful that the goofball Lil J was able to bring him out of his dark thoughts. _Trust in the team. The team won’t let you down._

He opens the next door and finds a stairwell leading into the basement. He pauses. Is this the passage down to the cell he spent months in? “Hey, uh, guys,” he says into the comm. “I think I might know where they are.”

Jeremy is at his side in a fraction of a second, peering down the stairwell. Trevor, Geoff, and Gavin join them after a few moments. “What is it?” Jeremy asks.

“I think it’s the way down to my cell. And if this is the psychological game Trevor says it is-”

“Which I still think it is,” Trevor interrupts.

“Then they’re going to be down there. Expecting one of us to go down there alone so they can ambush,” Geoff finishes, leaning against the door jam. “So what do we do?”

“Ryan goes,” Trevor says softly. By this point, Jack and Michael found their way to them and are listening silently, but even they turn their heads to stare at Trevor in disbelief. “Think about it. They know Ryan had a traumatic experience down there. They think they broke him. If Ryan goes down alone, it’ll cause enough of a distraction that the rest of us will be able to get into place to protect his back.”

Geoff turns to Ryan. “Are you okay with this plan?”

Ryan nods and adjusts his grip on his gun. It makes sense, even if it sounds like a bad idea. _Trust the team,_ he reminds himself for the thousandth time today. “I trust you.”

Geoff lays a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “We won’t let you get hurt again, buddy.” Jack and Michael nod in agreement.

Ryan forces himself down the stairwell. He presses his back against the wall so he can peer down the hallway. No sign of any life.

He readies his rifle and points it ahead of him, sweeping along the hall. There’s a single door open.

 _That seems really convenient,_ he thinks. _Who has a really long hallway and then only uses one room in the middle of it?_

Nonetheless, he approaches the door. It definitely is his cell, the one he spent two whole months in. The perfect place for an ambush of someone who hadn’t spent weeks beyond that wall. But he has every inch of that cell burned into his memory, knows exactly what awaits him. He expertly rounds the threshold and immediately his finger is on the trigger, ready to squeeze.

But no one is there.

He looks around, trying to figure it out. Had this been a setup? Were they supposed to focus their attention on this one warehouse so they wouldn’t notice something else going on?

 _Had Trevor set them up?_ he thinks, his blood running cold. He shakes the thought immediately. Geoff trusts Trevor, so Ryan must as well.

He starts to raise his hand to click on his comms and give the all-clear, but a sickening wave of vertigo hits. It brings him to his knees, and the cell starts to blur.

He barely manages to reach the comm unit to slur out a “Help…” before he hears the door slam shut and he fades out completely.

…

The first thing Ryan notices is cold metal digging into his wrists and a hard surface pressing against his face.

He has to fight to open his eyes. His head feels like it’s made of lead and the handcuffs binding him to the chair are too tight.

But when he lifts his head from the table and looks forward, he sees Geoff in a similar state. Groggy, confused, clearly wearing off the effects of some knockout gas.

“Geoff,” he says, his voice scratchy, and his throat burns with the effort. “Boss.”

“Ry-” Geoff starts, but stops when he experiences the same difficulty speaking. “What the hell happened?” he whispers.

Ryan shakes his head. “No clue,” he whispers back.

A door opens nearby, and Ryan looks around enough to realize they’re in his cell. _Because where else would we be._

“Good morning, boys,” a female voice says, and the sound of it makes Ryan go shock-still. From around the corner, a beautiful woman enters the room, her purple hair falling in stunning curls. “Sleep well?”

“Meg, what have you done to the rest of the crew?” Ryan says aloud, his voice straining but sounding strong.

She laughs softly. “You still don’t get it.” She looks between Ryan and Geoff. “I don’t care about hurting them. They’re fodder. But you two? The boss of the Fake AH Crew and the great Vagabond himself? You two are the lifeline of your crew. Kill one of you and the rest falls apart.”

“So why haven’t you done it yet?” Geoff asks.

Meg smiles sweetly. “If I do it or if I have one of my associates do it, then we just make a martyr. The rest of your crew spends their days trying to get to me just for some form of revenge. I have a better idea. Andrew?”

Andrew enters the room at her call, carrying a silver tray. From his seated position, Ryan can’t see what lay there.

“I don’t want to deal with revenge-sick lackeys,” Meg continues. “But if they see one of you kill the other?” She nods at a camera Ryan hadn’t noticed. “Your crew won’t bother listening to reason and will fall apart so fast they won’t have time to consider revenge.”

Andrew sets the tray in front of Ryan, and on it is a pistol the same purple as Meg’s hair. “Mr. Haywood, you get to make the choice. Yourself or Mr. Ramsey,” Andrew explains. He produces a key from his pocket. “And if you try and use the gun on us, we’ll kill you both _and_ the rest of your crew. Choose wisely.” With that, he unlocks the handcuffs from Ryan’s wrists. Ryan knows it’s a test, the same test he passed months prior. He knows Andrew’s strength, so even at the indignant look in Geoff’s eyes, Ryan does not retaliate. He allows Andrew to retreat and follow Meg from the room. The door shuts behind them with a soft click _._

“This is ridiculous,” Geoff says, straining against his handcuffs. “I trust you have a plan.”

Ryan eyes the gun. “I do, but you’re not gonna like it,” he mutters as his fingers brush the barrel. Beside the gun lay a key, which Ryan grabs and uses to unlock Geoff’s handcuffs. “They put me through tests to be sure they could trust I wouldn’t harm them. I guess they don’t have that luxury with you.”

“So your plan?”

Ryan hands the gun to Geoff. “My plan is trusting you,” he says as Geoff takes hold of it.

It takes Geoff a split second to make his decision and he raises the barrel, pointing it at Ryan. It sends a jolt of shock down Ryan’s spine that Geoff could decide this so easily. But he stands his ground, forces himself to trust him.

“I’m sorry,” Geoff whispers as he squeezes the trigger.

Ryan briefly acknowledges the pain before the world goes dark.

…

The first thing Ryan notices is the softness of sheets against his bare skin.

He blinks awake against harsh morning light streaming in through a window and he recognizes the room as his own in the penthouse.

 _How did I get here?_ he wonders and attempts to sit up.

Sharp pain blossoms from a point in his shoulder and he looks down to see bandages covering most of the region. He blinks as the memories flood back, his brain focusing on the fire of Geoff’s gun pointed at him.

Ryan knows he’s taken bullets before and not blacked out. So what made this time different?

There’s a soft knock at the door before it opens softly and Jeremy pokes his head in. He sees Ryan awake, smiles broadly, and dashes back down the hall. “He’s awake!” he yells, and before Ryan can realize what’s happening, a small parade is bursting into his room.

Michael and Gavin enter first, each holding a ridiculous amount of balloons. Behind them is Jeremy helping Jack carry a teddy bear taller than Lil J himself into the room and sitting it up in the corner. Then comes Trevor, with a huge bag of candy and books, as well as a cardboard crown that he places on Ryan’s head..

Finally, Geoff steps inside with a _cake_ of all things, which he lowers so Ryan can read what was written on top: _Sorry for the friendly fire._

Ryan laughs despite the protesting dull ache in his shoulder. “You guys are the best,” he says.

Trevor pulls a chair up and sits. “I should tell you that all of what happened was planned.”

“Yeah, that’s how we were able to get the bear,” Michael adds.

“I knew Meg would get dramatic with it, so we used that to our advantage,” Trevor continues. “I didn’t think she would take it to this extreme, but I warned Geoff that it could happen.”

“So what happened?” Ryan asks.

His friends settle in around him. “The knockout gas they used on your was powerful. The gunshot must have been too painful and overwhelming for your body to handle.” Trevor glances at Geoff before turning back to Ryan. “Y’know, most crews aren’t like the Fake AH. I’ve worked for quite a few crews now and none of them have ever been like this.”

“Meg’s plan would have worked if we weren’t a family,” Geoff continues. “She would have convinced you to find a crew with a personal connection, like hers.”

Ryan looks down at his blankets, suddenly ashamed of himself and all his doubts. “She told me that Trevor was my replacement like I was Caleb’s replacement,” he admits. Everyone lets out various noises of disbelief, so he defends himself, “She showed me newsreels of you guys doing jobs without me, she made me think that you guys had just given up on me.” He shrugs hopelessly. “I kind of just gave up on everything and didn’t care what happened anymore.”

“You weren’t even Caleb’s replacement,” Geoff says with a hint of annoyance at the lie. “I offered you both a place on this crew, he didn’t want in. Same as I have offered Trevor and a few others a place on this crew as well. No one is replaceable because we’re a family first, _then_ a super powerful crime organization.”

“Yeah, Meg didn’t consider that we’ve all metaphorically taken bullets for each other, ” Jack says. “You’re just the first to do so literally.”

“We all still trust you,” Michael speaks up. “The real question is, do you still trust us?”

Ryan looks around at his friends surrounding him. He’s seen these losers at their best and their worst. He’s seen them drunk off their asses, or nursing battle wounds, or enraged at one another after a particularly stressful Mario Kart tournament. Like Geoff said, this is a family. It may be a family that grows and shrinks, but it’s always a family loves each other.

So he means every word when he replies, “Without a doubt.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this back in 2015 and I finally pushed myself to finish it today. I'm so happy to see it come this far and become something I'm really proud of!  
> The title is a reference to Citizen/Soldier by 3 Doors Down, which randomly played on shuffle one day 4 years ago and gave me the idea for this story.  
> Tumblr: deremyjooley


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